


By the Light of the Moon

by Meatball42



Series: Rare Pairs [6]
Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, something going wrong can lead to something going really right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Light of the Moon

Neal struggles to drag Mozzie up the fire escape, glancing anxiously at the ground below to see if they’ve been followed. They didn’t exactly get away clean, and this safe house isn’t as safe as he’d like, but it’s the best he could do on short notice when the job went sideways.

He half-carries his partner up another set of steps and Mozzie groans loudly. “I realize we’re in a rush, but some delicacy wouldn’t go amiss,” he manages to gasp out.

Neal wants to roll his eyes, but he nearly stumbles over a flowerpot and redoubles his efforts at staying upright.

“I am bleeding from several places, you know.”

“Yeah Moz, I know. Now could you keep it down?”

They reach the window of the flat Neal’s rented and he grunts trying to open the window with one hand. It moves, but with a loud screech that makes him flinch.

“I suppose you want me to climb in there, bleeding all the while-”

Neal cuts him off with a kiss. When he nudges Mozzie toward the window, he catches sight of the completely stunned look on the other man’s face in the moonlight.

Once inside, Neal helps Mozzie to the bed in the corner. Neal knows it’s bad when his friend doesn’t even complain about how completely unhygienic the bed clearly is. He grabs their First Aid kit from the rickety kitchen table and pulls out all the gauze and disinfectant in sight.

“Show me where they got you,” he demands quietly.

Mozzie raises an arm to point and winces.

“Okay, _tell_ me where they got you,” Neal amends.

“Below my right arm, not too bad, left hip, bleeding a lot but doesn’t hurt much, and lower back, which- really hurts,” he finishes, sounding strained and out of breath.

Neal keeps his cool; he lightly tugs the hem of Mozzie’s shirt up to look at the hip wound. “Not too deep, but it looks like you nicked something.” He reaches for a thicker bandage from the kit- what he wouldn’t give for some towels right now- and wipes away the worst of the blood before sterilizing the wound. Mozzie hisses, and Neal mutters, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just make sure I don’t get an infection.”

The cut on Mozzie’s side is actually easier to take care of, and this time, Neal remembers ibuprofen in the kit. He grabs the leftover coffee from that afternoon, but Mozzie glares at him before dry-swallowing.

“I think the one on my back cut through some muscle,” he says grimly. “I wish we had some whiskey, like the cowboy movies.”

Neal snorts. “You don’t drink,” he reminds his friend as he examines the long cut on his back. It has reached the muscle, and Neal frowns as he tries to refigure their exit strategy for this country: Mozzie’s not going to be walking easily for at least a few days.

Mozzie gasps when Neal’s ruminations make him brush the disinfectant pad too harshly over the cut. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, soothing his friend with a light hand on his shoulder. He leaves it there, and Mozzie quiets.

Once he’s finished bandaging it up, he helps Mozzie lay back on the bed, shifting him carefully to tuck him under the blankets. As Neal cleans up the paper trash and bloody gauze, Mozzie speaks, unusually reticent. “You don’t have to con me.”

Neal looks at him in surprise. “I don’t con you. I don’t even know if I could, at this point.” With anyone else, this would be an absolute sign to stay away from whoever knew him so well, but with Moz, it’s different. Neal knows Mozzie would never turn on him.

Mozzie looks away, at the window where the moonlight gleams silver. “You could have just told me to be quiet,” he grumbles, and Neal almost smiles. _That’s_ what this is about.

He sits back on the bed, careful not to jostle. “Like that ever works. I didn’t kiss you just to shut you up, Moz,” he says. Neal can hardly remember the last time he was this honest, and paradoxically, the honesty makes him more nervous than what he’s actually saying. “I’ve wanted to for a while. I guess the moment was just right.”

Mozzie meets his eyes and Neal can see the cogs spinning, triple the speed of anyone else he’s ever encountered. “That sounds logical,” he allows, sounding so stuffy that Neal wants to kiss him again, “but I reserve the right of judgment for a later date. Preferably when I’m not at risk for infection.”

“It’s a date,” Neal agrees. Then he does use his con experience to stifle the bright smile that wants to spread, but this is Mozzie- Neal knows he can see it anyway.


End file.
